The weather was sharply cold for the season, the wind being very Easterly. I went to the Office feeling by no means better than I was yesterday. After sitting a little while occupied in various small matters I concluded I would try to walk off my head ach, and with that design I started for the two bridges to South Boston over one of which I went and the other I returned going far upon the main Street and then crossing upon Tremont Road, but it all would not do. I came home fatigued but not bettered. My afternoon was consequently a very dragging one. I read little or nothing—Only a little of Swifts Journal to Stella. But reading made me worse and so I at last in despair shortly after tea, made up my mind to go to bed. Nothing is more terrible than one of these visitations while they last.